


Emergency Contact

by Em_Jaye



Series: The Long Way Around [11]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Accidents, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 02:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20166502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em_Jaye/pseuds/Em_Jaye
Summary: Woody Allen once said, "If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans." With that in mind, Darcy had to wonder if there was anyone who could make God laugh quite like Steve Rogers.July 1972: Accident





	Emergency Contact

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crimtastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimtastic/gifts).

> This entire idea is crimtastic's fault. She gets all the blame/credit. Go to her page and kiss her face in the form of nice comments because she deserves them!

July 1972

She wasn’t paying attention when the diner’s phone rang. She rarely did—it wasn’t like they did delivery or took reservations. And this particular phone call happened to come in just before four-thirty. Right when the first round of the dinner rush was starting to pick up.

Nancy had the bright orange phone cradled between her ear and her shoulder while she finished writing a ticket for the grill. She stuck it on the wheel and nodded. “Yeah,” Darcy heard her say. “She’s right here. Is everything okay?” She paused and nodded again before she caught Darcy’s eye as she was picking up two plates of meatloaf and mashed potatoes. “Darcy, phone’s for you.”

She felt her brow wrinkle. “Uh, okay, hang on. Let me just run this to seventeen.”

“I’ll run that, babe,” Nancy held out the phone. “He said it’s urgent.”

Twice as confused, Darcy took the receiver as her co-worker squeezed past her behind the counter and picked up the plates she’d been about to deliver. She placed it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Is this Darcy Barrett?” an unfamiliar voice asked. He sounded older. Gruff. And more than a little unhappy to be speaking with her.

No, Darcy thought on instinct as she cleared her throat. “It is. Who is this?”

“This is Pat Sinclair—I work with your—uh,” he coughed. “Steve Grant?”

Everything inside of her clenched without warning. “Yes? Is everything okay?”

“Uh, no, honey,” Pat said, softening his tone. “There was an accident at the site today—”

“What? What kind of accident?” she demanded, trying to keep the panic that had risen swiftly in the back of her throat from creeping into her voice. “Is Steve okay?”

“He’s—uh—” Pat cleared his throat again. “They’re not really sure yet.” The phone almost slipped from her hand as she placed her other on the counter. “He’s down at Providence—you think you could get there?”

Her mouth ran dry and she realized she was nodding wordlessly. “Yeah,” she said quickly. “Yeah, I—um—what happened, exactly?”

“I don’t know the specifics, honey,” he said. “All I know is something collapsed during demo and your guy’s down at the hospital. You’re listed as his emergency contact so—”

“Right,” she cut him off. “Right. Okay. Um. Thanks for calling. I’ll uh—” she forced herself to swallow. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She hung the receiver back on the hook. Her hands were shaky, uncooperative as she reached behind her to untie her apron. “Um, Nancy?”

“Is everything okay?” Linda was asking a moment after she came out from the back. She pulled up her blonde hair and secured a banana clip while Darcy stood there, patting at her sides trying to remember where she’d stuffed her purse. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“Hey, can I get another Coke?” a teenaged boy asked from his stool at the counter.

Darcy ignored him. “I um…” It wasn’t just her hands. It was her voice that was shaking too. _There was an accident at the site_. Pat’s words bounced around her brain. _Something collapsed during demo_. “I have to go to the hospital,” she spit out finally. “Steve,” she said firmly, blinking and shaking her head as if to shake herself into action.

“What’s wrong with Steve?” Nancy asked, returning to the counter. “Is he okay?”

“Excuse me,” the boy said again, less pleasant than before.

“I don’t know,” Darcy admitted. “One of the guys on the crew called and said there was an accident and I—”

“Aren’t you girls working?” the teenager demanded, leaning toward the three of them, waving his empty glass. “Who cares about Steve? I’m your customer.”

“Where is he, sweetie?” Nancy asked gently, setting her hand on Darcy’s shoulder. “What hospital?”

“Um—” her mind blanked for a dangerous second before she remembered. “Providence.”

Linda snatched the glass from the kid’s hand and turned back to Darcy. “Are you okay to drive?” She nodded as Linda dug into the pocket of her apron. “Okay, take my car—"

“Uh, excuse me—”

She whirled back to the abrasive adolescent and slammed her palm on the counter. “If you don’t shut the hell up and wait a minute, I’m going to refill this glass and shove it down your throat sideways, do you understand? This is a family emergency. Your Coke can wait.”

His eyes widened and he sat back on the stool. “Yes ma’am.”

“Good,” she turned back and dropped her keys into Darcy’s hand. “I took Toby’s car today,” she said apologetically. “It’s two blocks up and the e-brake is sticky so don’t park on a hill.”

“Are you sure?” Darcy asked, closing her fingers around the purple rabbit’s foot keychain.

“Of course I am,” Linda nodded. “Nance and I will cover your tables,” she said while Nancy mirrored her nod. “We’ll tell Ray what happened—he’ll tell June. Can you call us when you know something?”

She felt herself nodding with the two of them. “Are you guys sure you’ll be okay?”

Nancy looked at her watch. “Alice’ll be here in fifteen minutes. We’ll just run on three instead of four. Not the end of the world.”

_Not the end of the world_, Darcy repeated to herself. _This isn’t the end of the world. You don’t even know anything yet._ “Okay…um…” she bit her lip. “Thank you,” she said quickly, the words not sounding like nearly enough. “I’ll call as soon as I can.”

She’d never been to Providence hospital—or any Oakland hospital—but she’d seen it enough times to remember how to get there. The sun was just starting to go down as she crawled to a stop a half a block from the entrance. The spot she found felt level enough not to try to engage the emergency brake—she didn’t feel like finding out what ‘sticky’ actually meant.

There were fifteen men waiting for her when she arrived at the ER. Breathless from her sprint from the car, she stopped in the doorway and felt her heart drop somewhere below her knees. They were all covered in dust and grime, most had been bandaged or stitched in some way and none of them looked like they were expecting good news.

A man who looked to be in his fifties—dark skin, a little soft around the middle and with salt and pepper close-cropped hair—stood and approached her slowly, with a slight limp that she thought had to do with bandage wrapped tightly around his right shin. Darcy was certain she was about to forget how to breathe under the weight of his sad, sympathetic smile. “You must be Darcy,” he said in a deep, quiet voice. “I’m Charlie; Pat called you?”

She nodded, her pulse like a jackhammer under her jaw. “Is he—” she wanted to breathe normally. To make her voice sound the way it should. To not feel so panicked and nauseous at the prospect of trying to finish a simple question. “What—um—what—”

_What happened?_ she wanted to demand. _Where is he? How bad is it?_ Any of those would have been enough to get the lump lodged from her throat. Any question she could finish would have been better than standing there, clutching her purse and someone else’s car keys, tensed like she was waiting to be punched in the stomach.

Charlie glanced down and put a hand on her shoulder. His palms were light brown, calloused and rough, but there was a softness in his expression when he looked back up. “We’re still waiting to hear,” he said quietly. “Why don’t you come and have a seat?”

She didn’t want to sit down—not where Charlie was leading her—away from the others to a quiet, empty corner of the waiting room. That was the kind of thing people did when they had to tell you bad news. Darcy wasn’t ready for bad news.

But it didn’t matter what she was ready for, because that’s all Charlie had to share. He told her what they knew about the accident: what was supposed to be routine demolition of one of the city’s old canning factories had turned into a nightmare due to crumbling foundations and corrosion of a building that had never been up to code in the first place. Everything had gone south pretty quickly, from the sounds of it. Sixteen men had been on site and, according to Charlie, it was only because of Steve that fifteen of them were sitting there, waiting for news.

Darcy dropped her head and clutched the rabbit’s foot tighter out of instinct. She didn’t need to know the specifics. Steve had done something incredibly brave, according to Charlie—incredibly stupid, according to her—and managed to get everyone out with only superficial injuries.

Everyone except himself, of course. Because after saving everyone else, there was no time left to get himself out before the building collapsed and buried him under two stories of rusted sheet metal and brick. “To be honest with you, honey,” Charlie shook his head. “I don’t even know how we managed to get him out at all. I’ve never seen someone pulled from a mess like that still breathing.”

She wet her lips and swallowed hard. “Okay, but he’s strong,” she said, hating that her voice was still so weak. So quiet and wobbly. “He’s really, _really_ strong, so…”

The word fell from her lips and dropped, uselessly to the floor. So…_what_? So he should have been immune to having a building dropped on him? So he was supposed to have just shoved all the debris aside and dusted himself off like a cartoon character? She felt an unfamiliar panic and dread rising in her chest, stinging her nose and eyes.

“I know he is,” Charlie agreed with another sad smile. “One of the strongest idiots I’ve ever met. Like I said, the fact that he was breathing at all was a miracle. The doctors are going to do their best for him,” he promised and squeezed her shoulder. “But I just…” he stopped and let out a heavy sigh. “I just want you to be prepared that there might not be much they can do. Okay?”

She pressed her lips together again and nodded. “Thank you,” she said finally in a voice that was little more than a squeak of gratitude. “Thank you for calling me.”

Charlie kept a hand at her elbow and took the seat beside her when they went to sit back among the crew. Darcy didn’t know any of them personally, though she’d heard a few of their names in passing. They each offered sad, nervous smiles when she looked up from the hem of her uniform and found someone looking at her, but aside from Charlie, no one spoke to her for the first three hours.

It was almost eight o’clock that someone new sat down on her other side. He was tall and wiry—not the kind of build she’d expect from someone working on a demolition crew—with olive skin and thick black hair. He offered her a shy smile and a Styrofoam cup of coffee. “Careful,” he said when she immediately put it to her lips. “It’s garbage.”

She smiled over the lip and sipped it anyway. She had to fight the urge to cough. It was garbage. Hot garbage coffee that had been brewed way too strong and had been stirred with enough sugar to make her teeth hurt. She nodded. “Sure is.”

He smiled again and shrugged—not easy to do with the sling across his shoulder, holding a broken arm to his chest. “Better than nothing, though.”

She nodded a second time. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Definitely.”

Her visitor glanced down at his dust-caked boots and shifted in his seat. He cleared his throat. “You need to, um,” he coughed a second time. “You need to put that ring on your left hand.”

Darcy frowned and looked down at her right hand and the ring he’d just motioned to with his chin. It was nothing special—just something shiny that had caught her eye when she’d gone to the department store on her last birthday. A rose quartz stone set into a gold band—not big enough to catch on anything while she was working and just enough to twirl around her finger when she was feeling anxious. “This ring?” she asked, before feeling dumb. She wasn’t wearing another one.

Her companion shifted again and glanced across her to Charlie, who ignored him. “We uh—we told the doctors we were calling his wife.”

Her frown deepened. “…Why did you tell them that?” She knew how Steve had listed her in his paperwork. Friend. Roommate. Definitely Not Wife.

“It’s a Catholic hospital,” he said with a glance around the waiting room. Darcy had noticed the crucifixes and the framed biblical verses. “Nurses are all nuns.”

She blinked. “And?”

“They didn’t want them to send you home without seeing him,” Charlie said finally, not looking up from his newspaper. “No one would let you stay with him if you weren’t married.”

If she felt better, she would have rolled her eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

The younger of the two men shrugged again. “Sorry,” he said. “I just figured you’d probably want to—”

“No,” she shook her head. “I…I appreciate it,” she admitted. “It’s just a stupid rule.”

“Them Catholics love those,” Charlie muttered under his breath.

Darcy twisted her ring off her right hand and slipped it onto the third finger of her left. It felt foreign and uncomfortable as she opened and closed her fist a few times, trying to get used to it. When she looked up, the younger man was smiling again. “Congratulations,” he said, a dimple appearing in his left cheek. “Steve’s a lucky guy.”

At that, Darcy did roll her eyes. “Thanks,” she muttered, shaking her head before she sobered again. “You didn’t lie about anything else, did you? I’m not supposed to be worrying about five babies at home or something, am I?”

He snorted and shook his head. “No, ma’am. Not unless you want to.”

Linda arrived a half hour later to pick up her car. “You can keep it if you want,” she insisted as she wrapped Darcy in a hug. “I’ll just get a cab home and Toby can cry about it.”

She shook her head when Linda let her go. “No, it’s fine. I don’t know how long I’ll be here and—” she stopped herself at the realization. “Shit. I have to open in the morning.”

“No, you don’t,” Linda said quickly. “Tangie’s going to cover for you.”

Darcy closed her eyes around a quick flash of relief. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about anything, honey,” Linda continued. “You’re covered up through next week.”

“What?” she frowned. “No, you guys didn’t have to do that.”

“Oh, shut up,” Linda waved her words away. “You’re one of us now, whether you like it or not. And not that we wouldn’t have done it anyway, but Junie would fire us if we didn’t all treat each other like family.”

Darcy felt another rush of emotion sting behind her nose as she dropped her gaze and laughed. “Thank you, Linda,” she said softly, suddenly wishing very hard that her mother was there. That’s who she’d call if she were home—her logical, rational mother who would have calmed her down twice by now and already grabbed her keys to drive to the hospital.

It was the wrong thing to think.

Her vision blurred without warning and the sob she’d been swallowing back all afternoon choked its way up from her chest. “I really appreciate you guys,” she managed to squeak out before two fat tears slid down her cheeks.

“Oh, honey,” Linda’s arms were around her again, squeezing her into another tight hug. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.” She pulled back just enough to kiss the side of Darcy’s head. “And in the meantime, you call any of us if you need anything, okay? I don’t care what time it is.”

“Thanks,” she sniffed, pulling away to push the tears from her cheeks. “But I’ll be fine. I wouldn’t want to wake the rest of your house up.”

“Oh, you’re right,” Linda said with a flash of her crooked grin. “If it’s before seven, call Tina.” She waited for Darcy to smile before she nudged her. “I’m kidding—I don’t care if the phone wakes the whole damn neighborhood.”

They hugged once more before Linda reluctantly let her go and Darcy made her way back to the waiting room, instantly aware of the shift in energy. The tension that had been simmering at a low boil for the last few hours had spiked, and the members of Steve’s crew were practically bouncing in their seats. She stopped at the sight of a nun standing in the doorway—a specter in all white, from her shoes to her dress to the crisp corners of her habit. The nun carried a clipboard and scanned the room with sharp, dark eyes, a thoughtful frown pressed the corners of her lips and wore a thin line between her eyebrows before her gaze landed on Darcy.

She crossed the room quickly, her starched skirts rustling with each step, until she stood only a foot away and there was nowhere for Darcy to run. “Mrs. Grant?” she asked, giving her an unapologetic once-over.

_No_, Darcy thought for the second time that day as she forced herself to nod. “That’s…uh. That’s me.”

“You can follow me,” she said and turned before Darcy could gauge what kind of news she was walking into. She had no choice but to hurry along behind her when the nun had turned and started down the hallway.

“Is he—” she had to take two steps for every one that this broad, stately woman took away from the waiting room. “Is he okay?”

“The doctor will have that information for you,” she said evenly.

Darcy quickened her pace, doing everything she could to fight the bile rising in the back of her throat. They didn’t lead people away like this for one-on-ones when it was good news. Without permission, her mind started pulling her down another dangerous path. Asking and answering its own stupid, unhelpful questions.

When was the last time she’d seen Steve? Last night, before she’d gone to bed.

Did they talk about anything important? The scores of the last two A’s games. Would he eat any banana cream pie if she made this recipe Nancy had given her? Did she pay the phone bill?

Was she supposed make that more important? To sift through all that mundanity and pull out something worth remembering as the last time they spoke to each other?

Hesitantly, she reached out and put a hand on the nun’s arm. “Please,” she said firmly, relieved when they stopped walking. “Is he _okay_?”

The sister took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Darcy watched her expression become a little less severe the longer they looked at one another; she couldn’t help but wonder how pathetic she must seem if it was enough to soften this woman’s iron exterior. “He’s been out of surgery for a while,” she said in a warmer tone than before. “The doctors wanted to ensure he was stable before they spoke with you.”

“And is he?” she asked, timidly, not allowing herself to hope too hard. “Is he stable?”

“As far as I know,” the sister said before she offered a tight smile and motioned to the left with her head. “The doctor should be able to answer the rest of your questions.”

The doctor was a middle-aged man with round glasses and a baby face that didn’t match his silver-streaked brown hair. He was waiting beside a closed door in suit and tie beneath his long white coat. The name Dr. Murphy was embroidered above the pocket. He offered a brief smile and extended his hand. “You must be Mrs. Grant,” he said, and Darcy did her best not to balk a second time at the title. “I was told they were calling you.” They shook hands briefly before he cleared his throat. “I’m just going to be straight with you, ma’am, there’s absolutely no reason your husband should have survived this accident.”

Darcy sucked in a sharp breath at his frankness. “That’s what the foreman said. How bad—”

“If what they said happened is what actually happened,” the doctor continued, “then he should have been killed instantly.”

“But he…did survive,” she heard herself say, slowly, wishing she’d looked a little less capable of handling this kind of blunt delivery. Maybe if she'd let herself have a proper cry, she'd look a little more delicate. A little more deserving of a sugarcoat. “Right?”

“He did,” Dr. Murphy said with a nod. “He suffered severe head trauma, broken ribs and collarbones, and both lungs collapsed during surgery, but he survived. Which tells me he’s either the single luckiest man alive or I don’t have all the details of what really happened during the accident.”

She pursed her lips and mirrored his nod, not enjoying the way her gut was twisting at his use of the words _what really happened_. “Can I see him? The nurse said he was stable.”

“Yes,” Dr. Murphy said. “Of course. I just wanted you to know that there will be some questions once he wakes up and is able to tell us what happened.” He placed an unwelcome hand on her shoulder. “As far as what to expect, we won’t know the extent of the damage until he’s awake—and at this point, I’m not able to speculate as to when that might be.”

“But he will wake up,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Won’t he?”

“With a head injury as severe as his,” the doctor gave the smallest of shrugs. “There’s just no way to know for sure. Please, just prepare yourself.”

_For what?_ Darcy wanted to ask as he stepped back and opened the door to the hospital room. But the urge to be away from him outweighed the urge to ask him anything further and she stepped inside, grateful when he didn’t follow her. They’d given Steve a private room, with a window that offered a view of the alley and dim lighting that forced her eyes to adjust when the door closed behind her and cancelled out the light from the hallway. She skirted the edge of his bed and grabbed the chair in the corner, pulling it to his bedside before she dropped down into it.

Half his face was covered with an oxygen mask and despite what looked like fresh bandages, she could see blood had blossomed from a wound near his hairline. They’d wrapped his chest and torso in bright, white bandages in an effort, Darcy had to imagine, to hold all of his broken pieces together long enough for them to heal. She rested her elbows on her knees and steepled her fingers together, dropping her chin to rest atop her thumbs.

“Steve?” she asked, his name barely audible, even to herself. She cleared her throat and scooted the chair closer. “Look, you can sleep tonight, okay?” she said, trying to keep her voice steady; trying to sound as normal as possible. “But tomorrow you need to get right back on your bullshit superhero high horse and walk out of this hospital,” she dropped her hands and crossed her arms over her stomach, giving herself a hug that wasn’t even close to the one she needed. “Or sooner,” she went on, worried that if she stopped, she might look at him for too long. Start cataloguing all the ways he could still slip away. Start wondering what she would do if she had to stay here on her own. Have to face the unpleasant realization that sincerely they'd arrived in Oakland, she’d never considered what her life was supposed to look like without Steve. “Sooner would work too. I uh—” she coughed. “I lied to the Catholic Church to get to hang out with you so yeah, actually, you waking up sooner and saving me from what’s shaping up to be the worst slumber party ever would be…”

She trailed off as her face crumpled and she brought her hand up to cover her mouth, trying to muffle an unexpected sob. The tears she’d been forcing back and away since she’d hung up the phone at the diner rose quickly and without regard for the front she was trying to maintain. They crashed down her cheeks and smeared her eyeliner and fell too fast for her hands to catch them.

A hand on her shoulder pulled her from sleep before she realized she’d drifted off. Darcy sat up quickly, blinking rapidly. “I’m sorry,” a whispered apology came from above and Darcy looked up, surprised to fine another nun, all in white, looking down at her. Her features were pinched in concern, but she looked much younger than the stern-faced woman who’d led her back from the waiting room. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, still in a soft whisper. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you might be a little uncomfortable.”

Darcy frowned in confusion and squinted in the darkness, taking a moment before she realized the nun was holding a small pillow and a folded afghan. She smiled and swallowed back the dryness in her throat. “Thank you,” she whispered back, even though she wasn’t sure there was any need. She decided to keep whispering. Keep pretending he was just sleeping—that he could wake up at any minute. “And thank you for letting me stay.”

Her companion’s expression warmed. “Of course,” she said and let a hand fall to Darcy’s back after she set the pillow and blanket at the foot of Steve’s bed. “I’m not sure if anyone mentioned it, but if you need to make a long-distance call,” she continued softly, “there’s a phone in the nurse’s office you can use.”

Her brow furrowed again. “Long-distance call?” she repeated, confused.

“I wasn’t sure if there was anyone else you’d want to be here,” she said. “With you.”

Darcy’s mouth opened once and closed again. There was someone she desperately wanted to be here with her. Plenty of someones. She wanted her mother to be sitting beside her, ready to pull her into her arms if she needed to rest her head on her shoulder. She wanted to be able to call Natasha and Sam and Bucky and let them take turns sitting next to him. She wanted to be able to text her dad for a distraction in the form of a stupid joke or get him to send her a picture of Barrett so she could fawn over her nephew’s chubby cheeks and big green eyes.

She wanted someone who knew Steve as well as she did to sit with her and simmer in this quiet rage and terror at his idiotic heroic actions. Someone who would roll their eyes when they heard what he’d done and be there telling him how stupid he was when he woke up.

She pushed all those impossibilities away and shook her head. “He’s um…” she paused and pressed her lips together, fighting for a breath around a suddenly uncomfortably tight chest. “We’re kind of all we have.”

The nun absorbed this with a nod. “And no children yet?”

Darcy coughed and remembered the ring on her finger. The lie she was meant to be maintaining. “Uh, no,” she shook her head, grateful this woman had given her a built-in answer. “Not yet.”

_There_, she thought. _That’s not a lie_. Although now that it had been brought up, she couldn’t remember if Steve had ever mentioned wanting to have kids. It wasn’t something they’d ever talked about, she reminded herself. Why would it have ever come up?

The sister seemed satisfied with her answer and offered another warm and sympathetic smile, surprising Darcy when she reached out and gently patted her cheek. “There’ll be time enough for all that,” she promised. “With a little faith, he’ll walk out of here good as new.”

Darcy felt another inconvenient lump rise in her throat as she nodded and forced a tight smile. “Thank you checking on me,” she said, when she could think of nothing else to say.

***

It was hard to breathe. That was the first thing he noticed when his senses began tuning back in. Like someone had parked a car on his chest; every breath felt like he might crack a rib with the effort it took to expand his lungs. His head was throbbing. It felt bigger than it should be. Balanced precariously on his neck like a bobble-head.

His eyelids were too heavy to lift without concentrated effort and when he finally pulled them open Steve was surprised to find he had no idea where he was. White, sterile walls and a faint smell of antiseptic told him it was a hospital after a few seconds, but he wasn’t afforded any further details as he moved his eyes slowly around the room.

Though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly where he was, the longer he was awake, the more the memories began to return of _why_ he was here. The basement of the cannery. The dust that had floated down like snowflakes around them moments before the floors above them gave way.

He remembered the panic and the terror and realization that there was no time to get out. He could feel every inch of his body that had tried to keep that last wall from collapsing. The feeling of metal and brick and concrete slamming into him from above, pushing all of his strength to its limit, counting the men that clambered over him to safety at his insistence.

Fifteen men. Had there been fifteen? Or sixteen? Had they all gotten out before his knees and back gave out? Steve squeezed his eyes shut and forced down the memories that were threatening to overrun his senses. Not of the cannery, but of all the other close calls. The bomb at the bunker at Lehigh, when he and Natasha had barely escaped with their lives, the fall from the helicarrier into the Potomac, Siberia, Wakanda, the compound. He pushed them back in the boxes he’d built for them and turned the locks, trying not to wonder if he was just destined to be a lightning rod for destruction no matter where or what time he wound up.

He opened his eyes again and carefully checked in with the rest of his body. Toes and fingers could wiggle, albeit slowly. Breathing was getting a little easier with each breath if he didn’t go too fast. The pain he was experiencing over his entire body was a good thing—it meant he could still feel everything. Use everything. It meant he’d heal from this, too. Just like he had from all the others.

A soft, rattling snore from one side surprised him and pulled his attention to the right. Even though it hurt, Steve couldn’t help the soft smile that came over his face at the sight of Darcy, tucked into herself, asleep in the chair beside him. She had folded herself around a pillow and was covered with a crocheted blanket. Her hair was a mess and fell over her face, a curtain of dark curls that fluttered with each exhale that passed through her open lips.

His smile slipped when she shifted and her blanket slid from her shoulder. He’d expected her to be wearing her uniform—the ugly mustard yellow dress she cursed daily—but she had on a familiar pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. What time was it? The clock above the closed door said 6:18, but he couldn’t tell by the diffused light from the window if that was AM or PM. He glanced over to the corner where he saw an overnight bag and a small pile of her clothes folded on top. It looked like a few days’ worth of clothes, he realized with a deeper frown. How long had she been sleeping there? How long had he been out?

“Steve?” Darcy’s voice brought his gaze back to her and found her sitting up, blinking herself awake. “Are you—” she stopped herself and shook her head as the afghan and pillow hit the floor. “You’re awake.”

He nodded carefully, still very aware of his injured skull. “I think so,” he heard himself say in a voice that was weak and hoarse from disuse. “How long was I—”

“Four days,” she breathed, standing up to drag her chair closer. “You’ve been asleep for four days.”

“Four days,” he repeated. It was close to the longest he’d ever been out—time in the ice notwithstanding. When he raised his eyes to hers again, he was surprised to find her blinking rapidly. Blue eyes glassy and wet. Make-up smeared into her skin. Without thinking, he reached up a hand and pushed at a tear that had slid down her cheek. “All these tears for me?” he asked with a twinge of guilt. Darcy had enough to cry about—she didn’t need to add him to the list.

She let out a wet laugh. “Tears of disappointment,” she said with a sniffle. “I figured you were going to die—I already rented your room.”

It hurt his chest to laugh, but he laughed anyway. “Someone better looking, I hope.”

She nodded. “Taller, too.”

She hadn’t pulled away from his hand on her cheek and he couldn’t help but swipe at the next tear that escaped. “Sorry to disappoint you,” he said softly. There was something about her red-rimmed eyes and messy hair, her pajamas and soft smile that made his chest hurt for reasons that had nothing to do with the bandages holding his ribs together.

She sniffled again and reached a hand up to squeeze around his. “I’ll just have to find another way to get rid of you,” she promised.

Steve frowned again at the sight of the pink ring on her left hand instead of her right where she usually wore it. He turned his wrist to hold her fingers in his and offered a raised eyebrow. “Did I miss something?”

Darcy rolled her eyes and took her hand back, wiping at her nose with the back of her wrist. “Your buddies told the nuns we were married so they’d let me stay with you,” she said flatly. “It wasn’t my idea.”

Steve felt a flash of affection and gratitude for his crew, that they’d taken care of Darcy and made sure she wouldn’t have to be alone, before he remembered that he’d been counting when everything had collapsed. “The guys,” he said as an edge of alarm crept into his voice. “The accident—is everyone—”

She held up a hand. “They’re fine,” she assured him, and he sank back into his pillow with relief. “Everyone’s fine. They all got out ahead of you.”

“Good,” he nodded. “Glad I’ll be able to thank them for marrying me off while I was out.”

Darcy twisted her ring around her finger and rolled her eyes. “Just don’t blow the story, alright?” she said, getting up. “The nuns have been very nice to me since they all bought my grieving newlywed shtick.”

He lifted his brow in surprise. “Oh yeah?” he asked, not able to help but tease her. “That must have been difficult for you to sell; you don’t even like sharing the couch with me.” If he could tease her, then this didn’t feel as bad as it was. Teasing her was better than thinking about her sitting next to him for four days, crying for real. And it was better than dealing with the realization that, if the situation had been reversed, it suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t what he would have done.

“It was an immense hardship,” Darcy said, her cheeky grin just enough to assure him that she preferred the teasing too. “So, don’t blow it, okay? Just pretend to be head over heels in love with me until they sign your discharge papers.”

He managed a full grin by the time she got to the door. “Good thing I heal fast.”

Darcy checked out the door and down both sides of the hall before she flipped him off and left to get a doctor.

***

If he were anyone else, he’d be dead. Steve knew that. Just like he knew the fact that he wasn’t dead—wasn’t even vegetating in a coma—was bound to raise questions. He stole a day, feigning a faulty memory, to come up with something convincing. Something the doctor would believe. And Charlie and Walter, and the police, and the owner of the cannery, all who filtered in over the course of the next week, asking the same questions over and over.

If nothing else, Steve had developed the ability to construct a cover story and stick to it. Natasha had taught him that much. Keep the big ideas vague, pick one or two small details you can remember. Don’t give any information they don’t ask for.

“I just got lucky,” he said for the fifth time in as many days. This time it was to Doug Cassner, the man who’d hired Walter’s crew for demolition—the one who was financing the new project they’d been clearing the way for. “Best I can tell, it was a support beam that gave out first? Blocked the worst of the collapse so that I didn’t get crushed.” He shrugged, hoping his face was neutral enough to convince them that he thought this was just as unbelievable as they did. “I can’t really remember all that much to explain it any better,” he continued. “Wish I could.”

Doug exchanged a look with Walter and moved his shoulder. “Guess the important thing is no one got killed,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “You must’ve been born under one lucky star, my friend.”

_Not exactly_, Steve thought wryly as he shook the hand Doug extended. “That’s what they tell me.”

The two men shuffled out of the room as Charlie limped in, still favoring his left leg. He offered Steve an eyebrow. “Walter again?”

Steve shrugged. “I guess they’re being thorough.”

Charlie mirrored his shrug and pulled up the chair. “Still doing alright in here?” he asked as he sat down.

“Sure,” Steve said. “Trying not to go stir-crazy.”

Charlie motioned to the open sketchbook on his lap. “What’s that?”

He glanced down and smiled at the present Darcy had brought him three days ago when she had to go back to work. A new sketchbook and a bouquet of freshly sharpened pencils. “An effort to curb the boredom.”

“It help?”

“A little,” he said. “Looking forward to having something else to draw than the four corners of this room, though.” He closed it and picked it up, surprised to see Charlie still eying it with interest. He offered it to him.

“You mind?” Charlie asked, reaching for it hesitantly.

“Not at all,” Steve shook his head, telling himself that he really didn’t until Charlie opened the book to the second page and he had to fight the urge to snatch it back.

It wasn’t the first time he’d drawn Darcy in the two years he’d known her. But for some reason, the sketch in this book felt more intimate than the others. Maybe because he’d done it while she was asleep in the chair beside him. He’d drawn her in her contorted ball of arms and legs, clutching her pillow. Eyes closed, mouth partially open, dark curls slipping from her ponytail into her face.

He didn’t know why he felt like he should be embarrassed by it. Darcy had already seen it. She’d smiled when she’d flipped through the pages and thanked him for not adding a realistic puddle of drool on the pillow. Charlie smiled at it too and turned the page without comment. “These are great, Steve,” he said finally, after he’d paged through them all. “You’ve got real talent.”

“Thanks,” he said, accepting the book back. “It’s just a hobby, though.”

Charlie regarded him for a moment, appearing to be studying him. Steve felt the urge to shift uncomfortably the way he did when anyone looked at him for too long. It was irrational, he knew, to be worried that anyone might recognize him. Even if someone thought he looked like an older, bearded version of the Captain America from the news reels, it was still a giant leap to assume he’d somehow ended up living undercover thirty years later.

But in moments like this, where it was just one-on-one, and especially after what had just happened, Steve couldn’t help but feel the need to be extra careful.

“You ever think about doing something else?” he asked, taking Steve by surprise.

“Like what?”

Charlie chuckled. “Like something that’s not going to land your ass in the hospital. Or the morgue,” he added. “C’mon, Grant. You’re a smart guy—you can’t just want to swing a sledgehammer the rest of your life.”

“What’s wrong with swinging a sledgehammer?” Steve asked good-naturedly. “You do it.”

“Yeah, and I’ve never been buried under three floors of concrete and scrap so I must be better at it than you,” Charlie laughed.

Steve smiled. “What are you getting at, Charlie?”

His boss shrugged. “Maybe nothing,” he said. “But I have a daughter—”

“Oh, easy,” Steve interrupted. “I’m a married man, now, remember?”

Charlie grinned. “She’s a principal at Skyline High School—you heard of it?” Steve shook his head. “It’s not a bad school but she’s had some trouble keeping teachers around.”

He blinked. “You…want me to tell Darcy to give her a call?” he guessed. “Honestly, I think she’s pretty happy at the diner—”

“I’m thinking _you_ might want to give her a call,” Charlie corrected. “Believe it or not, she’s looking for an art teacher.”

Steve scoffed. “Come on, Charlie.”

“What, c’mon?” he straightened up. “You think these docs are going to clear you to go back to work on Monday? And even if they did,” he frowned and shook his head. “There’s going to be more questions about what happened. You know that, don’t you?”

He felt his face fall. He hadn’t been thinking about what was going to happen to his job. He’d been thinking about saving lives, not about the inevitable inquiry that followed heroics in a world supposedly without heroes. He swallowed and shifted again. “You think they’re going to fire me for getting lucky?”

Charlie shrugged. “I don’t know what they’re going to do,” he said honestly. “But I know they’re going to keep asking questions. A lot more questions.”

“You think?”

He nodded. “I’ve been doing this a long time, Grant,” he said after a moment. “Nobody gets as lucky as you did.” He paused and his expression shifted into a pointed look. “And if I were you, I’d get my ID squared away and look for a job where this kinda stuff isn’t so common.”

Steve considered this with a lift of his brow. Charlie wasn’t threatening to expose him or tell the truth about what had happened during the accident. He’d known Charlie for just under a year—he knew how he took care of his crew like they were his own kids. He knew this was a fair warning that if he didn’t consider a change, life had the potential to get a whole lot more complicated. “Something like an art teacher?” he asked carefully.

Charlie smiled. “Just give it some thought.”

***

Darcy let her spoon drop into her pudding cup as she leaned back in her chair and hauled her feet up to rest at the foot of Steve’s bed. “You know,” she said slowly, thoughtfully, as she swallowed a glob of chocolate pudding. “I always thought it was just some bullshit myth that Boomers just seemed to get jobs by asking nicely for them…but I’ve literally seen no evidence to the contrary thus far.”

She watched as Steve frowned and pushed his empty tray to the side. “Is that what we’re posing as?” he asked skeptically. “Baby Boomers?”

She sighed. “It physically pains me to say this, but yes. Technically, that’s what we’d be if we were, y’know, supposed to be here.”

“That’s weird.”

“Tell me about it,” she muttered before she tapped his leg with her toe. “No, seriously,” she said. “Tell me about it—what’d he tell you about this teaching gig?”

Steve scoffed. “Basically, what you just said—his daughter sounds like she’d hire me if I called and asked nicely.”

It was Darcy’s turn to frown. “Why do you sound like you’re not going to do it?”

He looked taken aback. “Because I’m not remotely qualified?” he reminded with a laugh. “Who would I teach? What would I teach?”

“Sounds like you’d teach high school students and you’d teach them art.” When he didn’t look convinced, she continued. “Anyway, it’s not molecular biology. It’s not like you could teach it so badly you’d screw someone up forever. The arts are more,” she shrugged, “emotion-based which, granted, you’re not great at.”

“Gee, thanks,” he said flatly before he shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s just not really something I ever thought about doing.”

Darcy granted him that with another shrug. “Well, I never thought I’d have to learn how to use a rotary phone or a ditto machine, but life take some funny turns sometimes.”

Steve smiled. “Fair enough.”

“And if you don’t want to think about it for yourself,” she went on, unable to pinpoint why she was so keen on Steve considering this new opportunity. “Think about your poor, lovely wife.” He snorted and rolled his eyes, prompting her to continue with a grin. “Have you considered that maybe she would be happier if you took a less dangerous job? That she’d sleep easier? Huh? Given all you’ve put her through lately?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I honestly hadn’t considered that,” he admitted. “Do you think she’s ever considered that she’s kind of a pain in the ass?”

She felt her smile widen as she sat up and dropped her feet back to the floor, leaning over to smack his arm as she started cleaning up the trays from dinner. “You’d be a pain in the ass too if you were married to a reckless jackass with a death wish.”

“An emotionless reckless jackass with a death wish,” Steve corrected her.

“I didn’t say _emotionless_,” she insisted. “I just happen to know that you place every emotion you’ve ever experienced into a steel box somewhere around here,” she motioned to the middle of his chest. “And allow them to calcify.”

Steve was giving her a look that was half-amused and half-incredulous. “You really do say the sweetest things,” he said before he cleared his throat and turned serious again. “And you’re forgetting something.”

“What am I forgetting, dear husband?” she asked after she’d set their dirty dishes all on the same tray and placed it on the cabinet closest to the door.

“We took these jobs because they didn’t ask any questions,” he reminded. “If I go looking for a job in a school? Someone’s going to at least want to see a birth certificate or a social security card.”

She busied herself with arranging dishes so they wouldn’t fall and deposited their silverware into one of the empty glasses. She’d been thinking about this since Steve had been admitted. There was no getting around the fact that eventually—unless Janet had made a breakthrough they didn’t know about—they were going to have to figure out some official identification.

But thinking about how she’d go about stealing them documentation felt less terrifying than sitting in the hospital, waiting to see if Steve was ever going to wake up. She’d spent four days confronting the idea of losing her best friend and only lifeline in this mess in which they’d found themselves—everything else didn’t seem quite so daunting now.

“That’s a good point,” she said carefully as she returned to her chair. “And I’d say you were right and tell you to just go get another job with a different crew, but I happen to know you and I know that if there was another accident _there_, you’d do something just as amazing and draw just as much attention to yourself.” She gave him a look when he looked about to protest. “Questions are bad, Steve. That’s your rule, remember? Don’t do anything to make people want to ask more questions?”

He sighed. “Yes, I remember.”

She bit her lip and studied him for a moment before continuing. “If I could figure this whole official documentation thing out,” she tilted her head to one side and lifted her eyebrows. “Would you consider it? Teaching?”

“How would you figure it out?”

She sat back again and shrugged. “I don’t know.” That wasn’t true—she’d been running scenarios of how she’d do it since before Christmas, telling herself she’d never have to go through with it because they’d be out here before she had to. “But hacking’s hacking, right? Same principles.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Just don’t do anything dangerous without telling me first,” he said. “I could at least be your back-up if you tell me your plan.”

Darcy opened her mouth to retort, when Steve surprised her and took her closest hand in his, pulling it up to his lips to drop a kiss on the top of her fingers. She blinked and felt whatever she’d been about to say trip and fade from the tip of her tongue. “What um—”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Dr. Murphy’s voice came from behind them.

She turned and felt her cheeks flush as Steve laced his fingers with hers. Casually. Like a couple. Like the couple they were still pretending to be every time a doctor or nurse came in, she reminded herself. Steve was better at slipping back into the act than she was; he’d been catching her all week when the doctors and nurses were around, reminding her of this little game his crew had forced them to play.

She was still grateful they had. She didn’t mind pretending to be married to Steve if it meant she wasn’t shuffled out of his room at the sharp strike of eight every night. Or that when she came back in the mornings or after work, no one stopped her on her way to see him. It gave them both enough of an excuse to spend time alone and be able to speak freely with each other. And—if she was being honest—it made the nuns treat her with a little more sweetness; and as comfort-starved as she was, she wasn’t going to complain about that.

He was just quicker than she was, she told herself, forcing her fingers to relax in his. He had seen Dr. Murphy coming—obviously—and did what he could to shut her up before she let something slip they didn’t want overheard. No big deal.

Still, as she listened to the doctor explaining how Steve was going to be released the next morning, she wanted to pull back. Not because she didn’t like the way Steve was drawing absent-minded circles on the back of her hand, but because, unexpectedly, she did. It felt way too good and Darcy had to blame it on being a little too lonely for too long. She couldn't remember the last time someone had held her hand like that. 

And while Dr. Murphy was outlining all the ways Steve could compromise his own miraculous recovery, Darcy was counting the seconds until they could go home.

Back to their apartment. Back to their own rooms. Where everything was a little less confusing.

**Author's Note:**

> Some things:
> 
> A) I know nothing about Pre-OSHA construction work, but everything I've read tells me that is was an incredibly dangerous job. Especially demolition, which would have been Steve's strong suit. Accidents and collapses and deaths happened alllll the time before regulation was in place. 
> 
> B) The line about Boomers getting jobs they asked nicely for is not a jab. It's legitimately how my father was given a teaching job in 1975 and how my uncle got every job he had until he decided he wanted to be a lawyer and then had to go to law school.
> 
> C)...Leave me a little love? Perhaps? It's been a long week and it's only Thursday.


End file.
